


The Trophy

by Princesszellie



Series: The Shop Brat Life [17]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Cars, Carshop! Au, Deer, Gen, Herc is a bit of a pchyco, Teen!Chuck, mechanic!AU, or a bad ass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-04-30 22:00:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5181242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princesszellie/pseuds/Princesszellie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an eventful commute home, Herc gets in touch with his 'hunter' side....in a very barbaric yet satisfying way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Trophy

The drive home was always a dull, mindless task. Herc had been doing this commute twice a day, every day, for over fifteen years. The road was treacherous and curvy to strangers, but he knew it as well as he knew the hallways of his own home; which was at this point less than two miles away. The cornfields on either side of the unevenly paved road glowed golden in the evening light, but Herc saw none of it. He had zoned out, his mind still at his desk going over tomorrow’s order numbers and how to settle a dispute between two of the techs over of all things a socket wrench.

That was why, when the deer made its kamikaze leap out of the cornfield and into the path of his (absolutely) speeding vehicle, he didn’t have enough time to react beyond a yell of surprise as the beast took the bumper of the car in a full broadside hit. It bounced off the hood violently and went flying into the ditch.

The force of impact threw the car into the (thankfully) empty opposite lane as he struggled to control the front end and slam the breaks. With a screech of tires worthy of Charlie’s drag racing antics, Herc brought the car to a complete stop.

It took several shaky heartbeats before he could even think a coherent thought. He was fine, physically anyway, but his adrenaline made getting out of the car a little trickier than he bargained for. Fortunately, the erratic pounding his heart was doing came to an _instant_ stop when he finally got his first real look at the damage done to the car.

The remote location was a god send, as there was no one to witness the streams of profanity that poured out of Herc’s mouth. He used every word in his extensive vocabulary _twice_ and then made up a handful more before he had exhausted his rage. With the toxic fury released Herc was now able to actually appraise the destruction.

It didn’t take an expert mechanic to diagnose this as a total loss. The bumper was shattered in two places, the grill was pushed back into the fire wall, and the hood was crumpled up like so much tissue paper. It was at least a good _two thousand dollars_ in repairs…minimum. He did have the good sense to thank whatever deity presided over this insanity that it was a demo, and _not_ Lucky Seven- or god forbid- Charlie and Striker.

There was blood and hair _everywhere._ It was quite grizzly. Now where did that fucker go? Herc followed the blood spatter from the scene of the crime to the deep ditch that ran alongside the corn field. There, half way in, laid the mangled carcass. Good. At least it was dead, and in some kinder part of his mind he noted it didn’t suffer, but that was buried deep under his righteous indignation. He also noticed it was a decent sized buck with a six point rack.

“Piece of shit,” Herc muttered giving its flank a kick with the toe of his work shoe. He had never been a hunter, and he certainly didn’t enjoy killing things, but this bitch had it coming. Who the fuck ran out in front of cars!? Seriously.

He stormed back to the car and with his rage rekindled at the sight of it, suddenly knew he _needed_ those antlers. The engine turned over with no hesitation, it was hard to keep a good solid beast like this one down. It was also a relief as having to have it towed would have burned his last nerve.

Herc drove the last mile home and blew into the drive way with a landing that Charlie would envy and could only hope to emulate. Angela’s head snapped up from where she was weeding the front flower bed at the sound of flying gravel. The dust settled an revealed her very agitated husband leaping out of a completely ruined car that was spattered with _fresh_ blood.

“Hercules!” she exclaimed scrambling to her feet as said husband stormed past her. “What the hell happened!?” All she got in response was a disjointed stream of curses and something about a deer.

By now Charlie and Max had been attracted out of the back yard by the hubbub and he joined his mother in staring at what was left of the demo. “Holy shit….” He breathed, reaching for his phone to snap a picture. There was barely time to capture the carnage before Dad came slamming out the front door with another set of keys in his hand…..

And a twelve inch hacksaw.

“Those are _my_ keys!” Charlie whined.

“What the hell are you going to do with that!?” Angela gasped in horror.

Herc spun on his heel and skewered them with his manic glare. “I’m collecting my trophy. Pull the insurance information. Are you coming?” The last clipped question was directed to Chuck, and since Dad was already getting into Striker (without asking!) he dove for the passenger’s seat.

He watched his father nervously out of the corner of his eye. It was rare to see him in a mood like this; he hadn’t even bothered to turn the radio down! So with Charlie’s godawful hell music blaring, Herc retraced his steps to the scene of the accident. He parked and got out, taking the hacksaw- which had ridden the short distance on his lap- with him.

Charlie scrambled down into the ditch after him. “Oh wow…its huge.” He remarked, looking at the poor dead Bambi. Dad merely grunted, and was sizing up the best way to go about his extraction. “Awww it’s so soft….”

“Don’t touch it,” Herc chastised, “It might have Lyme or something.” Too late, Charlie was petting the buck like it was Max with a sad look on his darling face. Ugh. “You might not want to watch this….” He warned grabbing a set of antlers in one hand and preparing to hack away with the saw with the other.

It must have finally dawned on Charlie what was going to happen because he got pale and backed up several steps. Or it was because of the large, oozing wound to Mr. Deer’s neck area. Either or, it didn’t matter to Herc; who dressed in his nice work clothes, was standing knee deep in weeds in a ditch, sawing the antlers off a dead deer carcass with a purpose and vigor he didn’t know he possessed. It was glorious.

Charlie beat a hasty retreat back to Striker, taking his rightful place in the driver’s seat, and waited for Dad to return with his macabre prize. Which he did, wearing a self-satisfied smirk. “The boys will love this.” He declared, Chuck merely grunted in agreement. He let Charlie drive him back to the house, where Angela was waiting on the front steps. She was thoroughly grossed out by the still bloody horns and refused to look at them closely or, god forbid, _touch_ them.

The reception was much warmer at work the next morning. It was quite a moment of shock and awe as Herc drove the totaled demo right into the middle of the service bays, in all its bloody and hairy spectacle, and after the horrified twitters and gasps died out he popped the trunk where his hunting trophy was displayed in glory. The appreciative ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ more than made up for his wife and son’s apathy.

“I’ve heard a lot of weird hunting stories, but this one takes the cake.” Tendo laughed.

Raleigh took both antlers out and held them to his head, _“ _‘Wow you bagged a six point buck? What kind of ammo were you using?’_ ” He switched his voice to a fair impression of Herc’s, “ _‘I got it with a two ton Buick.’”__

Even Herc had to laugh both at the parody of himself and at the irony of that truth. Raleigh pranced in a circle still ‘wearing’ the horns and someone started a chorus of Rudolph. It was all very charming and Herc enjoyed his moment in the sun.

That was until he met Stacker’s gaze from across the bay and through the glass wall of the offices. A sudden chill settled in the pit of his stomach, all delight at his ‘kill’ gone, replaced with only the dread of having to explain the total destruction of the demo to his boss. Somehow he felt that Pentecost would be less charmed by his rack collecting story then the rank and file and that we was going to be in some sort of trouble. Fantastic.

He tossed the keys to Yancy and steeled himself to face the music, which was going to be more of a funeral dirge then the happy carol of moments before. As he reached the office door Herc gave one last look over his shoulder at the poor, true till the end little demo, and was horrified to find that someone ( _god damn it Raleigh!_ ) had stuck both the antlers into what was left of the grill. Now the car sat like some demented caricature of a hunting mount. There was no stopping his laugh, and as he walked into Stacker’s office it was a good sign to see he was smiling at it too.

**Author's Note:**

> 100% true story. 
> 
> My dad totaled a one of our Century's on a deer about half a mile from home. He drove the poor car to the house, got his saw and went and hacked them off. I watched. It was....special I assure. The rack still hangs in our barn along with his other 'trophies' which include the bumper off a Hummer H1, several antique GM brand signs, and one very ratty U of M flag. *eye roll* 
> 
> Whole front end had to be rebuilt, but he drove that sucker all the way to work the next day (over 40 miles one way!). Good times. The whole “‘Wow you bagged a six point buck? What kind of ammo were you using?’ ” ; “ ‘I got it with a two ton Buick.’” thing was the result of one of his fantastic retelling of the story and one of his friends quipped it. 
> 
> I know its been a while since I updated this series. This story was just on my mind, I guess it was ready to be told. ;)


End file.
